


Mute

by aminiatureworld



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Also I had a weird dream the night before writing this so thank you brain, I fell into that depression hole, M/M, There's vague mentions of blood and gore but I don't think they're graphic enough to merit a warning, requested on tumblr, sorry for the wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminiatureworld/pseuds/aminiatureworld
Summary: Aragorn finds himself trekking up at hill to a horrible sight.Aragorn has a nightmare about Legolas's death and wakes up in a panic.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Mute

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in over two weeks so I hope this is still good. I seem to have become the angst monarch, which is fine by me honestly. Thank you all so much on the last LotR fic! Never thought so many people would check out what I wrote! Proper thanks in the endnote as always but wanted to throw that out there.
> 
> Anyways as always, I don't have much to say and I hope you enjoy!

Aragorn often wished he’d been gifted the abilities of others. He marveled at those who could lead, who could remain stoic and calm even under the greatest duress, and especially at those who seemed unafraid and unworried about what fate had given them. At that moment, however, all he wanted was the ability to distinguish dreams from reality.

Not that he wished for the ability while he was stuck inside the dream, to wish for it would be to already have it granted. Instead, he found himself at the base of a hill, not really knowing or caring how he’d gotten there, one's mind doesn’t really think that way while dreaming, only feeling the need to go somewhere. Beginning the ascent up the hill Aragorn vaguely wondered where the rest of the Fellowship was. It was obnoxiously hot, and he hoped that maybe the valley below flooded into a reservoir or river. The hill itself seemed odd, stretching and shrinking at various parts. The grass had been so green at the bottom, but it now was the color of old straw, and Aragorn could see various bugs and insects making a nest in the soil, something that gave him a feeling of unease. Still, he kept going, better forwards than backward right? Also, he couldn’t seem to turn around, so there was that. Up, up, up Aragorn went, and went he finally seemed to reach the summit he was met with a grizzly sight.

There were bodies everywhere. Orcs scattered, leaving dark spots on the land; elves, their eyes open and clear, weapons and armor broken this way and that; humans also seemed to be in abundance, mangled, torn up, their waxy faces seemed stiff and eerily open. Aragorn found himself standing in the midst of the horrific scene, still dazed, his feet carrying him throughout the battlefield as a growing sense of dread washed over him. The faces were familiar but not, seemed to shift and change, but always reflecting the agony of those who fell on the field of battle. He swore he could hear some of them, their breaths escaping in rasps, the sounds of those who were slowly dying.

Approaching the thickest of the massacre Aragorn noticed a figure cloaked in green kneeling over a fallen soldier. Somewhere in his brain, he felt a muted sense of relief. This person would evidently know what had happened, could explain it all to him. As he continued his slow pace over, running seemed impossible and he didn’t want to step on anyone, he reached out and touched the cloaked figure on the shoulder. They turned around and recognition and horror immediately flooded Aragorn, as everything seemed to shift again. It was Legolas, or at least, it should’ve been Legolas, but something was all wrong. There was a deep cut from the top of the elf’s shoulder reaching down to his hip, and his ripped tunic was absolutely soaked through with blood. The elf seemed surprisingly calm at first, smiling an odd blank smile, and Aragorn could only stand still in muted horror as the elf looked around, before fixing his eyes back to his companion.

“You ought not to see this.” The elf said. Aragorn felt utterly mute. He could only stare in horror at the elf’s wounds. Legolas himself seemed to suddenly feel the entirety of the pain, for he crumpled forward, his lovely face twisted into an expression of pure pain, one that Aragorn had seen many times. He wanted to cry out, wanted to go look for something, anything that could fix it. But still he was rooted to the spot, and still his head felt cloudy and not all there. He stared down at the elf, who was now panting heavily. Looking up Legolas did his best to feign a smile. “My greatest companion. Go one without me.” Then he seemed to shrivel up, his limbs becoming charred, his hair even more caked in blood, his chest, Aragorn couldn’t bring himself to look. Closing his eyes as the elf gasped out his last breath Aragorn willed it to go away, willed it all to go away.

Waking up to the cold, clear air of Imladris was when the absolute horror of the nightmare truly set it. Aragorn felt a cold sweat cover him, leaving his hair matted and the collar of his nightshirt stuck to the back of his neck. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the light, breathing heavily, the worst parts of the dream flashing in the darkness. Dead. He’d just seen Legolas dead, had seen his companion dying in the most horrific of ways. His eyes finally working, if a bit rudimentarily, Aragorn glanced over to see where Legolas was sleeping, as it’d become a habit of the Fellowship to share a room, after all, what was that compared to all huddling together under the stars. The elf’s face was the picture of serenity, a small smile played on his lips and his hair looked as if there wasn’t a single strand out of place, something that Aragorn might’ve found vaguely endearing in different circumstances. Instead he just felt mute horror.

Legolas could die. They could all die. Aragorn tried not to think about the potential costs of a large scale war, tried not to think about the price his ancestor had demanded of his fellow men during that fatal war against Sauron. But avoiding the thought was much harder in the dark, and especially after what his mind had just conjured up, Aragorn felt only a vague sense of sickness. He didn’t want to wake Legolas up, let him sleep, it wasn’t as if the elf could promise not to die, no one could promise that. Still Aragorn found himself wishing that it was possible, that he could conjure some spell of invincibility around the elf, so he could shelve away that fear once and for all.

A soft snore escape Legolas, which made Aragorn jump then huff out a laugh. How inelegant, poor Legolas would surely die of embarrassment. Lying back down Aragorn stared up at the ceiling. Yes, it was true Legolas could die. They could all die, any of them. It was terrifying to think of it, to remember the dream. And yet Aragorn wouldn’t like it any better had they never met. No, they were bound by the bonds of fellowship and the bonds of those fighting for a unified cause. And even if that spell of invincibility was impossible Aragorn wouldn’t let hope die. One day this war would be over, and, if the Valar let it pass, one day they’d all be able to rest again, and then the nightmare he just had would truly become such, and pass into oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to the 471 people who read my last LotR fic! I'm still completely blown away and over the moon about it! Special thanks to the 32 people who left kudos and the 1 who commented. Sorry I took so long to reply to it but you guys keep me going!


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